


'cause I've got nothing left to lose

by revoleotion



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, implied major character death, season 5
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-17
Updated: 2021-03-17
Packaged: 2021-03-26 14:08:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 603
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30107169
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/revoleotion/pseuds/revoleotion
Summary: If everything goes well, they will share a body. No, that’s not it, Marcel will give up his body. He will give up existing. He will make the last sacrifice he has to make to allow the Beast to be set free again.
Relationships: The Surgeon/Sebastien Valet
Kudos: 2





	'cause I've got nothing left to lose

**Author's Note:**

> I've been listening to who are you, really? on repeat and asked myself, "why doesn't the surgeon give up his OWN body to bring Sebastien back?"  
> so naturally, I had to write it. Hi, Teen Wolf fandom, I know you did not miss me but I might as well share this!

His hands are trembling so much that it sends shivers through his entire body. He presses his palm against the tank, closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, then another one, then a third one. He’s scared.

Of course. He’s always been afraid of death. There’s an inevitability to what he’s going to try, a parallel to his actions that feel like they happened so many lifetimes ago that it might as well be another person who did them. Marcel smiles to himself but quickly drops the smile when it brings tears to his eyes. Has he grown attached to life? Longevity? Just lifetimes ago he was so ready to die if it meant giving his love a few more hours to run away.

Selfish. _Selfish_ , _selfish_ , _selfish_. He dedicated his life to science. He dedicated his body, his health, his everything to this.

Why is it so hard to make the last step?

_Because this time it will work._

Marcel opens his eyes again. The tank has grown so familiar that it might as well be part of him. The smeared, dried mercury on the lid, the dirt, the green liquid to preserve the body inside.

_Hello, love_. Did he ever say it out loud? I love you? No, that’s such a modern privilege. Marcel has lived through years of ignorance, then hatred, then acceptance, at least in some of the countries he visited. His old hometown recently had his first pride event. He never thought that his love could be something to be proud of.

He still doesn’t think this way.

Still. _Hello love_. He scans the body with his eyes, it’s almost the same as getting to touch him. Almost the same as holding him.

If everything goes well, they will share a body. No, that’s not it, Marcel will give up his body. He will give up existing. He will make the last sacrifice he has to make to allow the Beast to be set free again.

“Do it,” he whispers in French, his first language, the only one he ever used to speak to Sebastien.

His colleagues, fellow doctors, do not reply. There isn’t anything left to say. Marcel turns around to meet their blank faces, masks, and he wants to believe that they regret this as much as he does, that their shared regret may be big enough to stop him.

It isn’t. He wants to live. He can’t live without Sebastien.

Marcel removes the mask and hungrily sucks in the dirty, unfiltered oxygen. He hasn’t breathed without the mask in years, it feels like the pure air is poison on his skin. They make him sit down, gentler than any of their victims before.

Maybe because he isn’t a victim, not theirs, at least. He’s his own victim. Has love always been the answer? Is love supposed to hurt? Maybe he loves his friends. He closes his eyes when they insert the mercury.

_The key to true power is corrupting something truly good._ He has been good once.

He opens his eyes. He needs to see. He looks at his friends, the lab, the tank. Home. If anything, this is home.

His name is Marcel.

He’s tears on cold cheeks. He’s blood in the snow. He’s an arrow pointed at his chest. He’s brown puppy eyes and the sound his keys make when he unlocks the bar. He’s sticky tables and laughter and quiet words and soft touches.

He’s pain and betrayal and bloodlust and rage. He’s war and thirst and survival and blood on his lips. He’s the full moon.

His name is Sebastien. 


End file.
